


Falling Up or Tumbling Down

by Cathasninelives



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AkaBoku - Freeform, Awkward Boners, Awkward Romance, Bokuaka - Freeform, Demisexual Akaashi, Demisexuality, First Time Blow Jobs, Fukurodani - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Akaashi, Voyeurism, implied daishou suguru/mika
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathasninelives/pseuds/Cathasninelives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto Koutarou first entered -or more like came crashing into- Akaashi Keiji's life with a <i>Hey! Hey! Hey!</i> From that day on, loud-mouthed, strong-willed, boisterous, headstrong Bokuto-san with a pounding voice, golden eyes and a laugh like the sun -a sometimes irritating sun-, has held a strong place in Akaashi's world. And though his captain may prove irritating, he's grown on Keiji; in a way for which there's no words to describe.</p><p>His life now brimming with contradictions, Akaashi Keiji can no longer tell if he's falling up, or tumbling down.</p><p>Features demisexual Akaashi. With Bokuto's voyeuristic tendencies, Akaashi's feelings towards his senpai grow ever complicated. But how does Bokuto feel?<br/>Rated E for explicit sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yooshaaaaaaaa

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you will enjoy my first fanfiction.~

"Yooshaaaaaaaa!!!" The Great Horned Owl's thundering voice pounds the gymnasium walls following the ball's collision with the polished court floor. If the toss had been any lower, the point wouldn't have counted; not that this is a match anyway... Aaaand... -Not that that lessens the owl's inner self-cheerleader any.

Slim, well-lashed, grey-green pupils follow his captain to his landing. The golden eyed owl meets his gaze, and the love-struck setter feels something stick in his throat.

"Hey! Hey! Akaashi! Did'ja see that?!"

A stiff nod to his captain. Flat words. "I did, Bokuto-san."

"Hey hey hey! Toss me another!" Face wide with a grin, the third year does a half-victory-dance, half-pleading gesture, eyes shut tight with self-praise.

"Um, Bokuto-san." A twisting feeling builds in his gut as nervousness overcomes him though his plain outward demeanour remains for the most part the same. The air is thick; hard to swallow.

"Huuuh? What is it, Akaashi?" The level of perplexity in his voice, in his demeanour is of a level Akaashi could never comprehend; leaning forward, hands on his hips, one high-arched eyebrow raised far above the other, a pensive pooch to his lips.

At this point in the evening, they're the last ones left at practice, as they often are. Somehow, poor Akaashi Keiji gets wrangled into practicing with his captain some hours past when their teammates usually take their leave.

The flattest of expressions, as the setter flits slim, almond eyes to his ace's groin. Amidst the slick uniform fabric -lines and patches of yellow, white and black- lies a rather obvious growth.

Yes, again, Bokuto Kōtarō has an erection.

As the situation dawns on the young ace, hands reach his hair line, shouting aloud, though entirely to himself. "Ah! Shit! Not again!" His ever-boisterous voice pounds the gym despite them being its only two inhabitants.

How many times has it been now? Certainly too many to count. Though the actual number is 13. This is the 13th night this semester since they've started practising so heavily  and extensively like this that his captain has developed an erection.

Long-lashed lids lower, olive-grey orbs following the ace's form to the locker room where the great horned owl will relieve himself. Before any of this ever happened, Akaashi had heard of such a thing; unintentional erections from extended bouts of physical activity or from things as simple as changes in temperature or humidity. However, it's one of those things you usually just hear about, right? No. Nothing's like that since having met Bokuto-san; loud-mouthed, strong-willed, boisterous, headstrong Bokuto-san with a pounding voice, golden eyes and a laugh like the sun; a sometimes irritating sun. Though his captain may prove irritating, he's grown on Akaashi; in a way for which there's no words to describe. At least, there's none in his vocabulary for doing so. It's not enough to say the ace makes his heart flutter, his gut churn with knots, or that his gaze is often painful to bear.

The slight warmth in his cheeks fades with time, standing amidst these empty, silent walls; he needs to go change uniform himself, but knows it's best he wait. His captain sometimes _... takes a while_. Too many times; no, actually, every time thus far, he's entered the room whilst the white owl's still at it; ending in a more than awkward situation for the olive-eyed setter.

His feelings for his idiot-genius senpai are difficult to describe. He's never really harbored anything of this sort for anyone else before. But Bokuto... was his first in many ways. The first person he's met to find it appropriate to send him weird texts in the middle of the night, to show up at his house on New Year's Eve without discussing plans prior, the first to assume Akaashi wants to eat whatever _he_ wants to eat so he always buys more than one of everything and then he usually just has to eat both of whatever it is. The first person to cause such _excitement_ in Keiji's life. Yes, every moment with Bokuto Kōtarō was exciting; his ups-and-downs, his passion for life, his naive self-indulgence and kind heart.

 Oh, and of course, the first man to ejaculate in front of him. Not that that's really worth mentioning.

Warmth rushes to his cheeks as the moment's called to memory. In his opinion, the sensation lingers far too long.   

~~~

The screech of the locker room door rasps his ear drums, further forcing his diaphragm to tighten. Olive eyes beneath stark raven lashes scan the room with caution; the low lit fluorescent bulbs reveal 3 sets of palely illuminated lockers, two slatted benches and the hall to the shower room but no captain; no Bokuto. For the first time, he's waited long enough for the great horned owl to complete his business. 14th time's the charm.

Heart still aflutter from the thought that's plagued his mind: the heated sensation to his senpai's cheekbones, his gasps and grunts, the sheer look of pleasure found in half-closed golden eyes beneath broken brow. His member; erect and reddened, firm and slick with pre-cum.

The young setter shakes it off, unzipping the bag in front of his locker, and removing his gym shoes. The uniform top, though removed from his form, brings no relief to his lungs, makes it no easier to breath, though much of the warmth tingeing the setter's cheeks has faded. Olive-grey eyes raise to the gap between the lockers before him, to find his captain in silent pleasured gasp, perched atop the bench on the other side of the alcove. Golden eyes refuse to shut amidst the pleasure so as to hold the setter's gaze. Akaashi fills with red; smooth cheekbones highlighted in rouge which he can feel rise from his diaphragm.

"B-Bokuto-san." Muttered words are brought to struggled lips. Backing from the gap, he makes quick work of the room, heading for the door, only to hear his captain call out in erotic agony for his underclassman.

"A-akaashi." Panting amidst the sticky sliding sound. "Don-don't go -- Akaashi!"

The setter remembers the last time he walked in on Bokuto finishing his business and how post event, on the way home, despite his attempts to speak as little as possible, Bokuto had proceeded to ask him a plethora of questions regarding, basically, his kinks.

~~~

"How do you usually get it off?" Words spoken as if nothing were strange in such a question; one eyebrow raised above the other in genuine inquiry.

He'd felt the red burn his face in that moment; chest tight, widened almond eyes. He'd tried not to respond, to avoid the subject.

...

There's no avoiding Bokuto-san.

"Isn't it easier if someone watches you?"

The question about killed the poor boy. Gaze averted and thankful his face was masked thickly in scarf, he answered flatly, attempting to end the discussion. "I." A pause. "I don't know, Bokuto-san."

"It's hard for me if no one is."

This enflamed the young setter's cheeks further. He'd seen his captain ejaculate, twice. It was thanks to Akaashi that his partner had been able to get it off? The thought built a pale heat in his groin and sent his heart aflutter.

"No one's ever watched me, Bokuto-san." Though Keiji wouldn't describe himself as voyeuristic.

Luckily, they'd reached his house before any further awkward questions could pour from the idiot's lips.

That night, for the first time in a very long time, the young setter experienced the urge to masturbate.

~~~

The current situation feels like déjà vu, though it isn't exactly. His senpai's never requested he stay before, usually climaxing just as they lock gazes or just shortly after Akaashi's apologised, excused himself and exited in a hurry; though every time he feels his heart could burst.

The owl's request both terrifies and excites him, though he has no manner of explaining the latter.  He knows this isn't normal, but nothing about Bokuto-san is normal; has ever been normal since the day he first met his rather quirky senpai.

A sick nervousness mixed with excitement drops to his gut, and when the owl calls again... inexplicably... he complies. His captain calls him over, almost pleadingly, and the pleasured, needing tone of his normally boisterous voice sends Akaashi's mind straight to the gutter, his heart to his stomach & a warm knot to his groin.

"It helps if you watch me."

The words brings a flickering sensation to his stomach. For the sole person who makes his heart flutter, his chest tighten, his groin need; to want his involvement in such an intimate process in too much to bear.

He can feel the cool, backless bench grip the  skin of his thighs as he shakily straddles it from across his ace, slight shivers crawling his spine though he's uncomfortably warm at the moment. The lone moment long-lashed olive orbs wander to the scene before him is enough to make him want to run, though outwardly his discomfort only shows in the warmth of his face, his upturned thick brow line and the way his gaze so fleetingly avoids the peering golden eyes before him. His body fidgets lightly in discomfort and sparks fill his abdomen; his entire form quavers ever so slightly.

Seconds feel like minutes, and minutes feel like hours as the ace works at himself, olive-eyes averted all the while. The young setter's fidgeting worsens with time; ever-less capable of ignoring the grunting noises of his captain; the schlick of skin on skin, the huffing-- and it grows even further difficult when the ace calls his name.

"A- a-" "Akaa-shii" "Akaaashi." Struggled, pleasured words amidst gaps of needed breaths and pale moans, all of which only brings the setter to fidget further in his straddled position before his exposed captain; his own chest bare, fingers fiddling, his mouth ever so slightly agape as his throat shuts tight, his cheeks warm with flush. He knows what Bokuto wants, what _he_ wants, what his captain needs though the idea is too uncomfortable to bear. Keiji's back arches further in his sexual nervousness, hesitation and frustration, lips, bushy brow and olive eyes hesitant as he finally connects their gazes, which he struggles to hold; long lashes fleeting.

The sight before him sends further sparks to his crotch, forces his body to contort slightly further, his hands to clench and his throat to seal off; the captain is spread before him in seated position, propped upright against the flat bench with one powerful arm, the other grasping his reddened member, his eyes pleading in pleasure and mouth agape as he huffs at his setter. The sliding motion of square digits over his erection slowly calls a bulge to Akaashi's gym shorts; trapped beneath confines of white, grey and yellow; louder and _louder_ with each passing second.

Akaashi longs to avert his gaze, struggles to break from the scene before him; not for lack of want, oh no, but out of some desperate cling to morals and politeness. Though he's sitting, each moment he endures seems to dig a deeper hole in his emotional stability and sense of awkwardness, as if he'd fall were he standing. Yes, he inexplicably enjoys being watched by his captain, called for by his captain, needed by his captain. He's never longed for sexual intimacy with men, nor really with women for that matter; truly, never with anyone. Not until Bokuto Kōtarō. But in this moment, and in so many moments recently, he's guiltily craved it. To hell with definitions.

He draws in a shallow, less than steady breath, almond eyes narrowing further as his brow breaks; green-grey irises only palely visible from between a net of heavy lashes. His form is stiff in a mix of desire and discomfort, feeling all too strongly now the call from deep in his groin; warm and pleading. Yes, his form is stiff; like his captain's cock, which is also sticky; slick with pre-cum. Bokuto's steady palm, working so fervently at his member nearly forces an incriminating sound from the young setter's mouth. There's an inexplicable air of control about his captain in the moment; despite being so exposed, despite his panting and broken gasps, he's steady and persistent. A thumb stops at his head, making swirling motions that leave guiding lines in his pre-cum whilst his fingers grasp and slide at his shaft from below, and Akaashi's mind slips precariously, wondering what those ridges must feel like, wondering if only _he_ grants his partner this sort of pleasure, if only _he,_ with his long-lashed olive gaze can help his captain to the brink. This almost isn't real; like one of those dreams where you realise you're dreaming; fictitious, artificial. But this time, he doesn't want to wake up. The fire in those golden eyes seems to flicker in unison with the sparks that ignite Akaashi's groin as his captain's fervor returns his hand to a sliding, jerking motion. An ombre orb winced with pleasure, the ace spills messily into his grasp.

"A-akaashi." As the liquid slides between square digits, dredging the wooden slats in streams of white.

He never once touched his ace, never once felt the branding heat of skin on skin, never said a word through his captain's performance, but his partner's called _his_ name. How does Bokuto not realise what he's done to the young setter?

Unstable need forces words to Keiji's lips. "B-Bokuto-san." Cheeks aflame and olive orbs glossed with pleasure, hands clenching in desire and discomfort at his sides, he finally averts his gaze from his captain-- with his golden eyes; both hungry and pleased, lips agape in pale pant & a broken silver brow.

Akaashi's rarely ever experienced such urges, though there's no denying it now; his own cock pleads for freedom from amongst mesh nylon confines.

Half-choked words join Bokuto's pleasured grin. "Thanks, Akaashi. You really helped."

Damn this voyeuristic idiot. Damn his strangely sexy yet total turn-off hairstyle, oddly inspiring personality, powerful voice and weird knee-pad leggings. Damn his domineering golden eyes, goofy smirks and toned abdomen. Damn all the excitement he's forced into the young setter's life... in all its forms.


	2. Woooooooo!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is he falling up?

"Woooooooo!!!" Arms folded behind his head, school bag in hand as the duo makes their way home post... 'practise'. Not that they didn't practise... it just, wasn't the _last_ thing they did.

"Thanks, Akaashi. You really helped!" The comment, though nonchalant to the captain, is like arrows to his young setter's heart, mind _and groin_.

"I didn't do anything, Bokuto-san." Flat words.

He's not lying; he really didn't do anything to his captain; didn't touch him nor speak to him nor---

"Yeah you did! I haven't come like that in forever."

Shocked and worn with worry, olive-grey eyes search the vicinity desperately; why the hell would anyone say that out loud?!

"...Bokuto-san... ... ...--"

"It'll be easier to fall asleep tonight, Akaashi."

And again; his mind's on a rollercoaster-- headed straight for the gutter. To make matters worse, the idiot speaks again--

"It helps you too if someone else watches, huh?"

The poor boy about dies of embarrassment. Eyes averted and buried in furrowed brow, a tinge to his cheeks, an uncomfortable pout to his lip, the curl of his fluffy raven locks might just stand on end.

"I don't know what you mean, Bokuto-san."

One high-arched brow raised high above the other, lips pooched slightly, Bokuto closes the distance between them, leaning over the shorter boy's shoulder as for once, the great horned owl seems to recognise that what they're discussing -or really, what Bokuto is blindly insisting they talk about- shouldn't exactly be public knowledge. Not that his voice lowers any. Akaashi normally wouldn't be quite **_so_** stricken with the gesture, but considering the afternoon's events, he's having a hard time even remembering to breathe at the moment. The cool evening air lends visibility and further life to Bokuto's breath as it reaches his setter's ear; weaving through his silky locks, caressing his enflamed cheekbones despite his face being half-buried in scarf-- Akaashi feels he could drown in it; in that voice, in that scent; so near his own. Oh, the way his captain's words rasp his ear and send fluffy, sickening shivers down his spine; his mind returns to prior events---- only to have the earth beneath him feel as if it disappears with his partner's words.

"In the locker room. You got hard. Next time, I'll watch you, Akaashi. It'll help." There's a golden glint to the young ace's eyes, a slight smirk to his demeanour, though he means it entirely innocently.

And in this moment, his acute embarrassment makes him wish the world really would swallow him.

~~~~~~~~~~

And that night, is the second time in a _very_ long time that Akaashi Keiji experiences the urge to service himself.


	3. 2:26 A.M.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or tumbling down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies that this chapter is so short. It felt right so it gets to stay that way I guess.

"2:26 A.M."

Olive-grey eyes search the palely lit screen above him as he lay, form caressed by billows of blankets amidst an otherwise dark bed room. 2:26 A.M.. ... That's what it says. Despite Bokuto's comment earlier regarding sleeping well, the young setter's mind is far too stimulated to drift to slumber. Deft fingers open the messaging app on his phone, swiping down to Bokuto's name. The sparks in his stomach only grow more violent as olive-grey orbs reminisce; reprocessing past conversations. When not during school, the majority of their text messages were seemingly exchanged in the evening -or _very_ late evening at that- touching on topics varying from volleyball to the speed at which bats fly. His senpai is a strange one, to put it simply. One line in particular brings a pale curve to the setter's lips; features illuminated starkly from the shadows of the room with his face's contortion, brought on by the warm glow of the mobile grasped in his hands amidst a dark ceiling.

When he reaches as far back as the device will allow him to go, he's returned to reality, face contorting in upset, the warm glow speckling his cheek bones -palely visible in the darkness- the only element to let on his current love-stricken self-frustration due to his obsession with the loud-mouthed captain.

Sparkling olive eyes clench tight, turning his world black but in the split second he reopens them before his mobile screen surrounds him in shadow, his eyes glance over the last line of conversation they shared, forcing him to bury warm, reddened face in pillow.

_'Night, Akaashi. See you tomorrow.'_


	4. Not That Anyone's Counting

It's been roughly three weeks since that fateful night when Akaashi was first half-persuaded/half-longingly agreed to watch Bokuto service himself. Well, actually 2 weeks 4 days and approximately 19 hours, but who's counting? And.... they've shared roughly a half-dozen similar encounters since then. Though the last three times, as per Bokuto's persuasion and his own inability to simply make his erection disappear, Akaashi's nervously finished himself in front of his golden-eyed captain as well.

Again, not that anyone's counting.

And, it's now been 36 minutes and 14 seconds since he was led into Kōtarō's room and left there. 35 minutes and 28 seconds since he felt the plush folds of his captain's bed at his thighs as he took a seat. Yes, familiar as the Bokuto household may be to him, the young setter's grown a little restless. Though he's been to his senpai's house numerous times, despite his attempts to concentrate, his mind refuses to listen; ever wandering. He imagines his current mental state to be anything but healthy.

In his fleeting attempts at self-distraction, olive grey eyes glance about a somewhat clean room; subjective in this case as _clean_ for Bokuto is far from what Keiji deems clean, but that's aside the point. It's decorated as always; in posters of different celebrities of the volleyball world, one of a cute idol girl in a flouncy skirt Bokuto fell for as a first year, before Keiji knew him. The tick of the owl clock on the far wall. Akaashi would describe it as somewhat doofy in appearance; golden eyes that move back and forth with each passing second, beak open as if the cartoonish creature were shouting... and for a moment... he can hear the small bird calling his name. _Akaashi!_ It... kind of reminds him of Bokuto. The sliding door rolls open just as a stifled laugh breaks the underclassman's lips, brow broken in amusement, pink at his cheeks.

And there Bokuto stands. "Akaashi! Mom's---"

A less than stifled laugh as his partner says his name, in the same voice he'd just imagined from the cartoon owl on the far wall, with its ever-moving, piercing gaze.

Bokuto... is... slightly taken aback. The great white owl's eyes are wide with curiosity and excitement flutters in his chest until it paints his face in shining grin, though he finds the scene almost cute.

"Akaashi. What's so funny?"

A pause as he attempts to recompose himself. "Noth-" A pause. "Nothing, Bokuto-san."

Akaashi's forced from position as Bokuto's form joins him on the mattress, a pouty demeanour staining his previously grinning contours. "Come on! Tell me, Akaaaaaashi!"

Warmth fills his face at his senpai's proximity until it's all he can do but to hush the butterflies building in his stomach. "Nothing, Bokuto-san. What did your mother say?"

The captain's face spreads with bliss as his mind returns to prior thoughts and Keiji swears for just a moment, there's fucking sparkles amidst his senpai's golden eyes. "Aaaaah! Oh yeah! She's making yakiniku for dinner!"

The third year leans back on his arms on the bed, pure joy still painting his contours; eyes scrunched tight and legs lightly swinging against the wooden frame. "Meat. meat. meat." His voice is lower in volume but ever ripe with enthusiasm as he sing-songs to himself about what his dinner will be. The olive-eyed boy allows his gaze to linger on the curve of Bokuto's arms for a tad too long, startled back to reality by the tick of the owl clock -that's far too perfect a caricature of his senpai- on the far wall; feeling his ears tinge in warmth though his slim facial contours remain much the same.

"Ah. Bokuto-san. Did you turn in your graduation plans?"

Golden eyes shoot open and to the corner, the once-grin of his mouth a straight nervous line, ever built with worry.

"Bokuto-san."

The great horned owl further avoids the topic, pretending not to hear his underclassman.

"Coach has asked me about it three times now, since you seem to disappear whenever the idea occurs to him."

Further silence.

"But Akaashi! I can't help it!" Gold meets olive, set about a face that pleads _mercy._ "The advisor wouldn't accept that I'm going to play on the national team!"

"You have to write something realistic, Bokuto-san. Of course Sakurako-sensei isn't going to accept that as your plans." Words as flat as ever; unamused.

Suddenly, the ace owl looks broken. Oh, there it is. Yes. He shouldn't have said that. It was rude; slightly too directly rude for Bokuto-san.

"You have to write a back-up plan. Playing on the national team isn't guaranteed, Bokuto-san. They want you to choose a college or a field that you plan to go into."

"Aaaaagh." Keiji's jolted as the over-exaggerative captain flops back on the bed, grabbing at his dichromatic hairline.

Keiji almost regrets bringing it up. Clicking through the options in his mind, he settles on what he imagines to be the least destructive to their evening. "Just think on it, Bokuto-san."

And with that, the captain is suddenly more a puppy than an owl, plopping over on his side to look at Akaashi with the greatest of vigors.

~~~~~~

"Akaashi-kun, thank you kindly for looking out for my son." Mrs. Bokuto, brow upturned in soft, grateful smile, bows her head lightly as the family -1 and yet, +1 enjoys their meal; Mr. Bokuto is working late this evening.

Normally, one would return the gesture by saying they've looked out for him in return, but there's no telling how far to Bokuto's head such a comment would go if Akaashi were to express so in front of his captain, and he's not certain it'd be entirely truthful either.

"Of course." A slight nod of a bow.

Though he _could_ technically comment on how much Bokuto's done for him in regards to understanding his own sexuality, he feels the topic's best avoided.

Lovingly prepared meal under way, for once, normally so boisterous Bokuto, with his raucous voice and eyes like the sun -a sometimes really annoying sun-, is... quiet. Yes, save for the blissful _MMM_ and _AAAH_ here and there amidst some intermittent smacking sounds from the young ace, he... is quiet. Golden eyes sparkle and lips curl as each additional bite of his mother's culinary magic hits his tongue, whilst small talk is exchanged and bellies are filled and if this weren't Akaashi's seventy-somethingth time at the Bokuto household, he would have been astounded with the mountain of thinly sliced beef atop the table at the start of the meal -far disproportionate to the small array of brightly coloured vegetables, which looked more like a side than a portion of the same dish-- and experienced even further shock with the mere shreds of meat left at the end of it -- mostly per his captain's doing; the blissful look on the young ace's face tells all too well how pleased he is with the experience.

~~~~~

Their evening goes as it usually does when Akaashi stays over; both completely unexpected _and_ familiar. They spend a decent chunk of time playing some idol-dating game, for which Akaashi constantly has to give Bokuto advice because he's not once been able to trigger the confession scene for his favourite girl; the situation only further brings Akaashi to recognise his impending doom: Bokuto will never understand. Also, Akaashi is nothing like this fictitious idol girl for whom his captain pines, much to his dismay.

Also much to his dread, the fact that the student council asked the Fukurodani Volleyball Club to run a food stand for the cultural festival and, Akaashi knows all too well that Bokuto + food doesn't exactly equal success. Though, reflecting on it, an actual performance event might have brought even greater suffering and headache to the setter; whether it be a song or choreographed dance, twirling in coordinated outfit whilst singing _I'll always be_ _there_ or something of the like isn't exactly his thing. In their discussion that evening -which is only mayhaps the 20th regarding the topic-, they plan for the upcoming cultural festival, which primarily deals with Bokuto asking ~~begging/whining~~ to do things with the club that the club surely can't afford; a yakitori stand, beef skewers stand, amongst a slew of other things they could never possibly pull-off. Plus, they wouldn't sell a single one if Kōtarō were in charge; Keiji knows far too well from the golden sparks in the great horned owl's eyes -in addition to his intense craving for all foods meaty and delectable-, that he'd swoop in like a true bird of prey and eat every last skewer before they could pass them onto customers. He'll speak with Konoha-san. They'll need to do something less extravagant they can make in large batches and relatively cheaply if they are to actually accomplish any selling.

The evening is finished off binge-watching one of Kōtarō's new-found favourite drama series -as his tastes are ever-changing-; a story about some girl who really wants to attend a particular, well-known fictitious all boys high school to play tennis so ends up matriculating as male. Akaashi's not particularly amused by the series; unrealistic in its entirety, but then again, so is Bokuto-san. Following this, they discuss lengthily their most recent practise match with Nekoma, commenting on everyone's performance and future tactics and Kōtarō says a few cheesy yet powerful lines about playing volleyball, which actually bring a slight curve to Akaashi's lips. Bokuto's face is like that of an excited puppy -lit up enthusiastically, rouge staining his cheeks-, upon noting that pale smile, but before he has a chance to comment on it, Akaashi excuses himself to bathe; maybe _there_ , his heart can find refuge. He both craves and dreads such long personal periods with his captain. It's more than his heart can take.


	5. "Good night, Akaashi."

Dark, raven locks matted about a flat line brow slowly unfurl from his scalp as he lay atop the billowy confines of his senpai's bed, one hand shielding his olive gaze from the glow above. Yes, again, he awaits the return of the great horned owl, gone to bathe some 40 minutes ago; a surprisingly long time for Bokuto.

~~~~~~

The slosh of the sliding door rolling into place brazes his ears, heavily lashed lids lifting to find his senpai, finally having returned from the shower and not half as dry as Akaashi thinks he should be. He discovers that for once, dichromatic locks have followed the calls of gravity; matted messily to Bokuto's brow, paired with a friendly smile, as though his long-overdue return weren't strange in the least. The freshly steamed warmth of his captain's face paired with his genuine enthusiasm to see Akaashi tinges the skin along the setter's cheekbones lightly, though his comportment doesn't reflect the awkward pitter patter that's grown in his chest, sitting up so as to allow his senpai to sit. The great horned owl dishevels his damp locks further, fluffy towel left to drape at his neck and Akaashi feels his eyes linger a tad too long on his senpai's upper body; powerful arms, taught neck, squared shoulders. He knows himself to be far more intelligent than his behaviour at the moment reveals. He never used to have a problem seeing his partner this way, so why now?  Hell, he used to touch his partner -or rather, be touched by his partner, as Akaashi has an affliction for allowing people their bubbles- without issue. But reality's at his door again; knocking sense from his mind and discomfort into his stomach, like it's done so often as of late. An abrasive, unwanted guest. 

"Ah sorry I took so long, Akaashi," fluffy cotton hits dichromatic locks as the owl does a final run-down of his crown.

Akaashi **almost** asks _what_ he was doing, **almost** inquires as to _what_ took him so long, **almost** questions _where_ he's been, but doesn't; knowing far too well how that tends to end. So he opts to simply state it as no big deal; as though every moment laying in his senpai's bed alone, enveloped by the scent of his sheets and the very essence of Bokuto in this room... wasn't painstaking or some strange form of torture. But before his contradictory masochism is able to fully settle in, before any words are permitted to leave his lips, that powerful voice breaks silence.

"I couldn't get off. I tried thinking of you, but it didn't work. Hoped you would watch me."

Olive-grey eyes widen and his mind does a double take, processing the bulge beneath his partner's cotton pajama shorts; cloth pulled every which way awkwardly in its attempts to confine Bokuto's erection, despite not being cut to do so.

Here-- HERE. In this fully-lit room, in Bokuto's bed, with his mother just downstairs.... Bokuto wants to jack off, whilst staring Akaashi Keiji down. Bokuto-san... came up here with an erection and wasted nearly an hour in the shower trying to get off to Keiji's gaze. He can literally feel the warmth rise from his gut, in his throat, all the way to his raven crown. The room is suddenly stifling.

The setter stills, struggling to process it all, knowing this must be a dream and that surely, he'll wake up-- and _soon_. No, that's just how life is with his senpai and his face-splitting grin and loving excitement for life; surreal. And he's rudely called back to reality by the bed's gentle shifting, which feels like tremors to Akaashi at the moment as Bokuto goes about repositioning himself so he's fully sitting on the bed; chest bare, golden eyes lidded, lower lip in teeth and brows raised, supporting himself with one powerful arm.

The patter of his heart grows wilder; more sporadic, until it's all Keiji can do to keep from crying of some sickly mix of mortification and joy. His panicked form rises from the bed, pulling the cord of the circular ceiling light and rendering them in darkness. As its long past sunset, the slats in the windows provide very little guidance to their vision and for some bloody reason, being trapped in this nearly pitch black environment; where the walls stretch every which way and the floor feels as if it can't decide whether or not its crumbling is somewhat.... comforting. Far too like his every day world with the great horned owl.

"I'm not ready for bed, Akaashi." The level of honest, straight-forward perplexity in that voice is almost concerning.

Akaashi's nervous form returns to the mattress, arranging himself so carefully as though he could make himself invisible were Bokuto not to feel his presence -if only that were possible- though he's only sitting what he can make out to be some 20 cm from his captain.

"I" He stills. "I know, Bokuto-san."

And, as Kōtarō makes no further comment, it seems the captain now understands as sharp, olive eyes make out Bokuto's form moving to release his erection from its cotton confines. The setter's heartbeat grows ever quick, cheeks seared with anxiety and excitement until, his mind loses sense and his body betrays him, shifting forward so as to stop his captain from the process. The mellow burn of skin on skin as palm hits square digits haults Bokuto in his task of freeing his cock from its restrictive cloth.

Olive eyes worn with worry, his throat now betrays him, forcing the words he only wishes he felt comfortable enough to say from distressed lips.

"I-". Silence. "I want to do more than watch this time, Bokuto-san." And then reality knocks again; shooting sparks in his groin, new patterns to his heart and a sickly, chilled tightness to his lungs. And though such a sensation has stabbed him more than a half-dozen times, the feeling is still all too new; foreign, exciting and unique-- just like his senpai. His heart stills.

Though he can sense Bokuto's initial rigidity, the ace seems to accept the proposal; shifting back so as to allow the setter better access. Akaashi scoots forward on his knees, nervous fingers playing at the stiffened cloth in their subtle uneasiness to reveal the ace's erect cock, warm polyester gripping clammy palms as a pleasured hiss drowns his ears. Every sensation; the heat of his partner, the chill of the air, the tension of his chest, the pulse of his groin-- is so very contradictory. So very heightened. Partial blindness casts him from reality.

But the peering gaze of his senpai is still there, palely lit by the glow of the moon; cool and stark-- his face a game of shadows, his golden eyes; a lidded galaxy.

When slender digits finally turn his captain's erection fugitive, reddened pleasure heats his skin. At first, his fingers hesitate, shaking softly as they form around the ace's cock. It's firm and taught; hot and thick in his grasp and not entirely... unexpected... yet... completely foreign. One more contradiction to plague his mind.

His member is not entirely unlike Akaashi's; of greater girth mayhaps and more rigid along the bottom but right now, it's difficult to stroke his partner, not for the sickly anxiousness mixed with arousal building in Keiji's gut, but for the fact that he fears soon that it will be too dry, skin scraping over skin as he works at him.

Lidded, olive grey orbs glide to the side, breaking their gaze, cheekbones flushing further, nearly shaking in nervousness as his mouth stands agape, tongue protruding, allowing warm saliva to pour over his partner's member; weaving its way between the ridges of Bokuto's cock and Akaashi's slender digits, which he proceeds to move, olive grey orbs tilting back hesitantly, lower lip in teeth as he watches his fingers slip repeatedly along Bokuto's shaft with a flustered, broken brow, fluids mixing.

And the panting begins; rough and struggled and strained words hustled to firm lips.

"A-" Huff. "Akaa" Muffled by pleasure. "Akaaash-" Between grunts. "Akaashi."

The setter can feel the polyester strain of his shorts grow worse with each fugitive sound his captain makes. As if against his will, his grip raises from the base of his ace's cock to the head, making swirling motions at the tip, which bubbles with pre-cum, forcing groans from his captain's lips.

Bokuto begins to thrust with the sliding motion of Akaashi's grip, hips rolling in tandem with the pull of slender digits on his cock. As Bokuto pleas and calls, his member twitches in Keiji's grasp, near matching the shooting sparks to his _own_ groin, forcing gasps from his lips, olive grey eyes lidding. Suddenly, or maybe not so suddenly, the once chill, still air feels hot and worked, sticking to Keiji's form. However, as the setter works at his ace, the schlick grows to a dry rub, and Akaashi shifts forward anew, repeating his prior crime to pour slick, warm saliva over his captain's erection, which twitches upon contact, forcing half-choked words to Bokuto's lips. And as he pumps and rubs and plays at his partner's member, pulling it upward in gentle tugging motions, rubbing with playful fingers along the underside, the rub of skin on dry skin grows unpleasant anew, forcing winced huffs to the captain's lips.

"A-akaa-aashi." A broken brow, huffing. "It- it's too-- tooo dry, Akaaaaashi."

Akaashi flushes at the gentle complaint, wide, olive orbs tilting down to the erection in his grasp; twitching as Bokuto lightly rolls his hips forward greedily. And again, his mind forsakes reason for desire and his cock abandons self-control, the setter shifting forward on his hands and knees. Gradually lowering himself to his partner, a wave of warmth hits his face, the heat of his partner's groin the very definition of calefaction. His erection is hot and lively, twitching intermittently in anxiousness which only brings further hesitation to his setter. He mistrusted himself and his doubt takes the reins, filling his gut with uncertainty and discomfort; a deep, bloated feeling though his groin shoots with yearning and eagerness. Wavy raven locks, still slightly damp, brisk his broken brow line as he outstretches his neck, misgiving the proximity of the warm erection, until it hits his cheek, laying a light swirl of their fluids down the side of his face. Olive grey orb winces shut, pink staining the bridge of his nose, cheekbones flushed to his ear lobes and as he raises his gaze, lidded, golden eyes pierce his own hungrily, tongue protruding from the captain's wide, starved grin in ravenous craze. Keiji's lips pooch lustfully at the sight, his heart dropping to his gut as nervousness is expelled-- no, _consumed_ by desire.

Akaashi turns slightly, olive meeting gold as he places his lips around the head of Bokuto's member. Feeling its pulse on his skin, the air grows hot, far too warm and sticky and lively, just like the erection at his lips. He lowers himself slowly, sucking longingly on the shaft as adroit digits play gently at his ball sack, rolling the tender flesh in hand. Each rise and fall of his charcoal crown returns a searing heat to his mouth, pushing into his throat and oh, is reality there to remind him again that this is truly happening. A further warmth builds in his own groin as he sucks and licks, slurping and feeling the way Bokuto twitches in his mouth, holding his gaze all the while. The great horned owl rolls his head back at this, forced by pleasure to break their gaze though he struggles so to return to it.

"A-- A-- A-- Ak-- k- Akaaaaaaaaashi". Choked words, a broken silver brow, thirsting lips agape.

Keiji's shaken; stricken; his mind thrown from reason by the way his captain calls his name, only to be further shocked when the ace lurches forward in his mouth, drowning his mouth in cock. A dribble of pre-cum, warm and lively, hits his tongue and he pushes it back against the erection, rolling it. As he sucks and works at his partner, an excess of saliva and pre-cum builds in his mouth, which he longingly, though guiltily swallows, eyes wincing shut as heat floods his face with each slow swill of their fluids.

Uncertain if Bokuto notices, he allows his logic leave of reality, returning dewy olive orbs to gold. The ace pierces him from above, amber spears pinning sage down, lower lip in teeth, and lustful chills run the setter's spine; knowing all too well just how meticulous and hungrily the great horned owl has decrypted and picked apart every bit of his partner before him-- committed to memory. Further flustered by his senpai's voyeurism, the fire in his groin only builds and spreads; the sear of his partner's cock against his tongue and half-way down his throat, as he gains confidence in his performance, sense murdered by lust, he groans back against the erection, working his senpai ardently, fervently; who responds in moans, struggled words and the lurch of his hips. At times, captain rolls forward slowly, knotting square digits in the wavy, slightly damp raven locks of his setter, to force his mouth further over his erection -which sears Keiji's tongue. They grow sodden, not from their baths prior but due to their own arousal, the way hot skin sears flesh; the supposedly-cool air traps their forms in a sick yet pleasing humidity. Swallowing the whole of Bokuto's cock isn't easy and Akaashi winces at the gesture, maintaining their locked gazes to the best of his abilities but as the captain groans his name again; this time the loudest and hungriest ever, the setter slows his pace, gently removing his mouth from his ace's member, pausing, and then replacing it again several times over. Olive orbs glint with playfulness, a pale smirk to his working lips though his confidence is startled again by the starved desire of those golden eyes... and the thorough twitch and pulse of his cock. And when his captain finally comes, powerful hands subject Akaashi's face anew, stuffing his face with his member in full-body shudder, pleasured chills riddling his spine in long-awaited release. The sticky, slightly-salty, scorching liquid hits his tongue, spilling over his teeth, filling his mouth with pulse after pulse until the setter chokes, pulling back, the final dredges staining his skin.

Hunger in his eyes and fire in his groin, Keiji swallows, his lips, cheek and tongue blemished in white, his cheekbones tarnished in crimson. 

And Bokuto leans back, better situating himself on the bed, wiping his member with the still damp towel from prior, huffing and panting all the while, lidded gold beneath a broken brow -so reflective of his exhaustion and satisfaction-, meeting sage. His ace, normally so boisterous, energetic and passionate, is worn with pleasure, Akaashi, of mortification.

"Wo-- ooow, Akaashi. That was amaz--ing." Words choke through his pleased grin, one high arched brow raised above the other; one amber orb further lidded. A deep exhale. "You-- look good like that." Slow, rooted, patterned breathing in his attempts to recompose himself, holding the well used towel out to his setter.

Olive eyes widen with fluster and unease, embarrassment and horror, discomposure and self-consciousness. This boy's done it again; turned his world upside down, forcing it to black. His cheekbones flush further, his breathing tight and awkward and shallow; his lungs full of knives that pierce upon inhale, each word like stones to his gut, bringing him all forms of discomfort, despite his erection. _Who the fuck says that?_ Oh yes, Bokuto Kōtarō, that's who. The only genius idiot-enough to say such things; to ever speak such things, and with such nonchalance.

Fleeting sage retreats to the left from beneath lengthy raven lashes, boring a hole in the wall as if he could dig an escape path with his eyes alone. His grip is a fumbling mess as Keiji hesitantly takes the sullied cotton, wiping his lips and face down on the areas of the towel he finds the driest and least filthy. He's just bathed but already feels like he needs it again; not just for the cleansing, but for the escape. The knot in his throat is difficult to swallow. His teeth work a hole in his lower lip, cheeks and ear lobes aflame, a broken brow.

"I" The effort required to speak is unbearable. "I" The salt stings his throat, his nasal cavity on fire with his discomfort. "T-thank yo-" A pause. "Bokuto-san." His thighs shake with unease and exhaustion.

He can feel Bokuto's sharp golden orbs boring a hole in him, staring him down.

"I'll watch you, Akaashi." Words slide from his tongue as though there were nothing strange in such a statement.

Oh, but there is. There really bloody is. And Akaashi's mind, straight to the gutter. There's no relief for the poor underclassman. His attention seduced back to his erection; rendered almost painful by time, trapped in cotton confines, warm and sticky and stained to his pyjama bottoms, logic is further vetoed for lust, all reason spiraling out of control.

Almost guiltily, he enjoys this. Sheepishly though smoothly removing all remnants of clothing from his form, his slender build returns to the mattress, sitting across from his partner, just like that fateful after practise encounter weeks ago. Long charcoal lashes flit from the piercing golden gaze of his ace to the wall and back again, finding it all too difficult to stare into that amber galaxy for more than mere seconds. His squeemishness is clear in the gentle, awkward tugging on his member, the way he struggles to stifle any incriminating sounds that may fight their way past his lips, in his broken brow and high cheekbones, tarnished with crimson. His member is sensitive; _far_ too sensitive, forcing his hips to roll and lurch and jut forward uncontrollably at intervals; toned back arching under the sweet pressure of pleasure. And the more he lends attention to the eyes dancing with gold flecks before him, ever heightened does each touch and tug and slide and schlick of his saliva soaked fingers over heated cock become.

Though it's a matter of seconds, mayhaps a minute that he endures such guilt and shame for the lustful sensations tremoring his form, it feels like minutes and hours, mind lazing over what he's just done with his captain, what he did weeks ago with his captain, what he _will_ do to his captain; what he's done _only_ ever with Bokuto; the only person to so calmly knock sense from his mind, an irregular beat to his heart and stones into his gut. His eyes clench shut, faint lines crinkling and spreading at the corners, fighting a hole into his lower lip, his pace hastened, slender digits schlicking and sliding against his shaft up to the tip and back down again, huffing and heaving in little longing gasps. He can feel his desire pulsate in his groin, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine and olive orbs -half-lidded in struggled pleasure beneath a broken brow-, meet Bokuto's gaze anew; hungry and prowling, with stars in his eyes, as he moves forward, a thirsty grin decorating his face. And just when the reality hits him that Kōtarō may intend to assist him in the matter, he comes uncontrollably, pulse after pulse spilling hot, slick liquid over his hand. It slides and streams down his palm, through his fingers, puddling in pools on the damp towel beneath him, Akaashi groaning the name of his would-be-lover all the while.

"B-B-Bo-Bokuto--sannn" Struggled and rushed and forced from his lips, however incriminating such behaviour may be.

He huffs and pants and, finally catching his breath, connects their gazes anew; to find a satisfied, lidded amber gaze before him, his captain's face flushed over the bridge of his nose. The idiot smiles and Akaashi nervously, gingerly returns the gesture, wishing he could smother his features in his hands, shield himself from those golden galaxies. The great horned owl laboriously shifts so as to lay on the bed, plopping back against the mattress which forces a woosh of air to hum in Keiji's ear drums as dichromatic locks, citizens of gravity, follow suit, splaying about worn face. Form coated in cold sweat though it feels like fire, Keiji stands, wiping himself down with care; on the only item available to him; his senpai's towel. Normally, such a notion would disgust him; a used cloth, no matter what it was used for, would disgust him, but again, Bokuto has been his first in many ways. Not to mention the first person to receive a blow job from him.

Cleaning himself cautiously, as their fluids mix and touch and swirl into the cotton, he's sent deeper into the gutter, olive-grey eyes widening to match the crimson painting his face. His throat tight, he takes a few moments to regain his composure, though as always, the idiot genius speaks; this time, out of concern.

"You OK, Akaashi?"

"Mm." No he's not.

A stiff nod, though it's unlikely Kōtarō can make out the gesture at this distance in the dark.

When he's finally certain this cruel world has allowed him the pleasure of a floor and a ceiling, he returns to the bed, shifting into it. Normally they'd sleep on distinct futons, but as Bokuto's settled in to the large bed, seemingly sans intention of getting up and Akaashi would like to relax his knees as soon as possible, he follows suit. Bokuto's scent rushes him, though he's distracted from it by the softened words of his captain, though still awkward.

"That was great, Akaashi. I'll sleep well tonight."

Akaashi won't.

The setter's vision adjusts to the newfound proximity of his partner, studying with a softened, hesitant gaze the contours of Bokuto's face. The pale moonlight through the gaps in the slats in the window above them paint lines on the great horned owl's skin, illuminate his eyes; dancing with amber flecks _and_ he smiles- that genuine, dorky, exhausted grin of his.

"Good night, Akaashi."

The words and that tender grin strike him and he feigns discomfort as an excuse to shift, burying his burning face into the pillow in his flustered need for refuge. Olive orbs wide against cotton, he wishes he could scream into it, out of love and excitement and all the unease built up inside him.

No, he surely won't sleep well tonight.


	6. Morning, Akaashi!

The chilled air racks his form like an unwanted guest; groggy and still partially blind, the morning sun through the window slats renders his vision painful. Olive orbs wince shut from the harsh brightness which stab glowing, residual, floating shapes into his gaze. In his need for refuge, the setter turns to his side, propped up slightly, to find himself faced with Bokuto's disheveled face, deep in slumber; flippy dichromatic locks splayed every which way on his crown, mouth slightly agape, his contours soft and calm, so very different from his senpai's usual demeanour; well-built appendages thrown about him haphazardly, consuming _more_ than his share of the bed, not to mention being buried in a flurry of blankets Akaashi remembers them _sharing_ when he finally drifted from consciousness.

Though he hates the cold; despises it-- face contorting in displeasure as it riddles his bare upper body, -sans blanket as per Bokuto's thievery-, little lines of discomfort building in crinkles beneath his heavy lash line, the sight before him strikes him, forcing narrowed eyes to unravel, flush to paint his cheekbones, his heartbeat irregular and a softened smile to his face.

He allows his gaze to linger far too long, committing every wrinkled line, the gentle flow of every dichromatic lock, the goofy deep-sleep pooch of his captain's lips, open wide to one side, to memory. Though Bokuto-san is quiet and calm, soft and serene at the moment, he's still so clearly Bokuto-san; even when still, there's something so energetic- so lively- _so-- Bokuto-san_ to his demeanour.

Golden orbs laze open, lidded and dazed and he stares back... almost dumb-stricken it seems; pale smudges of crimson building on his cheekbones-, no, maybe he's still just half-trapped by slumber. At least, that's what Akaashi will attempt to convince himself of, as sage eyes flee to the side, warmth dying his face in red. Searching his mind for what to say, what to do, he, for once, is saved from embarrassment by the idiot genius.

"Morning, Akaashi!" Though his words are brought on late, the ace is seemingly unfazed.

"Hm. Good m-morning, Bokuto-san." Flat words, though lightly shaken. Olive orbs flit back to his senpai in response -still collapsed against the billowy confines behind him-, before fleeing anew. The warmth of his enthusiastic greeting, his passion and excitement are far too much for the young setter, especially at the moment.

So, as usual, he rises from the bed, moving to clothe himself for the day, flat and calm outwardly though inside his mind is reeling; a dismounted puzzle. What did Bokuto think of that? Why did he stare back so intently? In such a stupour? Before he grants reason to fantasy or faith to surreality, he stomps out his flurry of curiosity before it can mutate into actions he doesn't entirely agree with.


	7. Kuroo, why are we doing this?

"Kuroo, why are we doing this?" Nervous fingers search the hem of his shirt.

"Hehe. Because it's fun." A sly grin spreads the taller's face, eyes narrowing playfully. "You have to learn to be a high schooler."

 "No, it's not." A pause, more anxious fiddling and displeasure at his captain's latter comment. "Plus, this has nothing to do with the club." His words are lower than usual.

"Sure, it does, Kenma. Like the blood in our veins. We must keep the songs playing without stopping. Keep the lyrics moving and your mind worki--"

Kenma's face crinkles in disgust at the awkwardly constructed allegory, though their discussion is cut off by the great horned owl's approach; making the cat wish he could disappear -this sort of event really isn't his thing.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" A face splitting grin and exorbitant wave by the white-haired captain, Akaashi in tow; he shares a stiff nod in greeting, one arm raised, though he doesn't really wave it.

"Heeeey!" Kuroo and Bokuto share in a greeting that the setters have no choice but to perceive as some idiotic ritual; complete with special handshakes and bad puns. Though such get-togethers aren't infrequent, Kenma and Keiji swear the special handshake grows more and more 'special' every time; the puns-- they just get worse.

~~~~~

By the time the odd owl/feline group arrives, Konoha Akinori -the only one of the group to ever arrive on time-, has already picked out a karaoke box; a decision which results in Bokuto's overdramatic complaining; last time, they decided they'd get the deluxe room.

"If you were on time, you could've chosen the room, Bo."

The great horned owl shrieks with disdain, powerful hands grasping at the base of his dichromatic locks as he half flings himself, half plops onto the smooth cushions at the front of the room, nearest the projector. "AAAAAAUGH!!!" His head rolls back as a further show of his frustration.

Konoha, long used to Bokuto's over-dramatic shrieking and flip-flop of extremes slides in next to him, as sharp glints cross the scheming captain's gaze.

"Oooh~... That seat's taken, Konoha." A playful pause. "Akaashi is Bo's back-up singer."

"Oh... uuh... okay." The fox-faced owl is left slightly puzzled though he doesn't exactly mind; it just means Bokuto can't steal as easily from his plate. Akaashi, however, is a little worse for wear. Warmth dots his cheeks though long-lashes glare in conviction at the scheming cat captain as a smirk spreads the feline's fine contours.

"REALLY!? You're gonna sing with me, Akaashi?!" Golden galaxies sparkle with vigour and excitement and Akaashi swears new constellations were just created though he has no choice but to take his place next to Bokuto, as he's drug to his spot in the booth by the aforementioned great horned owl. A smile like the sun, -blinding and far too hot for his heart to handle-, forces a sick knot to Keiji's throat.

As everyone settles in, Bokuto hurriedly places their order via the little telecom system in room; enough food for 10; dumplings and pizza, onion rings and takoyaki, kara-age and seafood pasta, fried onigiri and chicken skewers, agedashi tofu and edamame --as per Keiji's request; so there would be something with some slight nutritional value on the table.

As Bokuto goes listing the seemingly endless order -and far too quickly at that- to the server on the line, Kuroo moves to select the songs to be sung on the Karaoke player's handheld panel-- much to Akaashi's dismay. A playful smile spreads the scheming captain's face, meeting the gaze of the fine-featured owl.

"You're up first, Bo."

"HEY HEY HEY!! Of course!! I'm the best!" The obnoxious owl does some sort of victory dance with his arms; the kind of shit that makes the underclassman wonder why he's so infatuated with the idiot genius.

"Mm? Don't people usually say 'save the best for last'?" Konoha quirks a brow in playfulness, shifting back on his hands as Bokuto's face contorts in concentration, but before he has the chance to retaliate, a memeish cackle breaks the scheming captain's lips. "Guess that means you can't go last either, Mr. Jack-of-all-trades."

"Who asked for your commentary, Kuroo?"

Their banter is cut off by the opening instrumentals of the song, as the words First Love - Utada Hikaru fill the projector screen surrounded by an array of glittery sparkles, hearts and stars -as if Akaashi's current predicament weren't already embarrassing enough. Firm hands grasp two microphones, excitedly knotting one into the lovestruck setter's grasp, despite the fact that this song isn't a duet. Thin olive orbs narrow further at Kuroo-more than slightly unamused by his song choice and all too keen on his intentions: at every out-of-club meet-up this year, the quick-witted cat captain has puppeted and danced and had himself a jolly-old-time through Akaashi's discomfort. The underclassman is far too certain now that his bedhead senpai has long since picked up on his affections for the booming, great-horned owl. However, before a single irritated syllable can break his lips, he's rejected by any last cling to morals or self-pride he may have had as he's pulled to his feet by his captain, who sings the song in earnest; a loud, belting powerful voice filling the setter's ears with words of first loves and dreams and always being in Bokuto's heart-- and... he feels his own could burst. Luckily, the only one who seems to notice is Kuroo and he's more than slightly distracted by the slosh of the sliding door; enter the server: a blonde and slim-figured girl, with a cute face and soft features, long locks reach her midriff; cut clean and square across her brow. Konoha seems a tad stricken with her, flirting somewhat genuinely... and showing far too well the dork he is to the soft-featured girl. Thickly lashed lids close in a giggle at Konoha's very mediocre attempts, and the blonde actually manages to get her name out of her -Mika- before she leaves, though that's all he's able to ascertain. His stomach empty, and heart now even emptier, the only choice he has is to drown his sorrows in the mix of flavours Mika-chan filled the room with before taking her leave.

"Agh, she's cute." He states in slight drama, fighting his chopsticks from their plastic wrapper in a crinkle.

"Lay off it, Konoha."

"Huh?"

"I'm telling ya, she's not into owls. Not slimy enough." Kuroo slinks back in his seat, returning his gaze to the hopeless birds before him.

Konoha, despite not actually knowing anything more of the girl than her name, is more than slightly offended by

Kuroo's commentary as he plops a piece of far-too-hot kara-age into his mouth.

Akaashi, seemingly forsaken by whatever magical being should be looking out for him--, finds himself spinning; Bokuto's smile right now, so warm and genuine and alive, paired with that softened golden gaze... that's so vigorously pinned to olive, sends stones to his gut, which only intensifies with each word that falls from his partner's lips... as though they were meant for Keiji; _I love you, How I wish I could never let you go, You will always be inside my heart_ \-- **oh** , his own heart flutters. And Keiji can't decide whether reality is just cruel or so very kind; as calloused fingertips grasp his own; skin searing skin and sending an irregular thump to the young setter's chest, golden galaxies pleading he sing along though neither of them actually knows the lyrics. Their gazes remain locked and Akaashi finds himself again, studying those amber flecks and constellations, feeling warmth further rise in his face, called anew to reality by the squeeze of his partner's hand-- likely in all innocence, or so the young setter will convince himself. And again, like so many times before, the olive-eyed owl finds himself incapable of not participating; rejecting reason for some twisted knot of emotions in his gut though he succeeds in hiding his afflictions outwardly rather well, he sings along, plain and genuine; wishing for not-the-first-time-in-a-while that he could disappear, though his voice is on pitch and has a slight, warm lull to it, his face more than a little warm. The booming voice of his partner stills, sheer joy spreading the captain's face as Akaashi joins him and when the song comes to an end, the ace remains silent, -slightly dumbstruck?-, despite Kuroo's sly "Bravo!"

Akaashi half glares at the bed-head cat captain who responds with a playful grin as Bokuto finally releases Keiji's hand from his grasp, turning his attention to the food the cute girl delivered but minutes ago. "Wow, you sing really well, Akaashi."

"Yeah. Almost as well as the original artist. Like the song was written for you." Kuroo slips in, before sticking a chicken skewer in his mouth. However, he's distracted from their current conversation as he realises Kenma has ignored the entire performance, golden eyes glued to the mobile in his hands.

"Eat something, Kenma."

"Mm? No." Cat-like features fold in refusal.

"Guess I should have invited chibi-chan. Then you could have sung with him like Akaashi-kun did with Bokuto."  
Akaashi wants to scream.

Face deep in a plate of kara-age, the great horned owl's gaze raises to the bickering felines. "Mm?"

"That wouldn't have changed anything, Kuroo." Warmth dusts his features, eyes further glued to his mobile.

"Oho? I bet it would've. Akaashi-kun wouldn't have sung like that with anyone but Bokuto."

Now he wants to scream louder.

"That has nothing to do with me, Kuroo."

A teasing sound of incrimination rolls from the bed head cat's throat in rising intonation. "Mmm? I think it does, Kenma. Every time we get chibi-chan involved you're actually interested in participating and you do things you normally wouldn't. Just like with Akaashi-kun and Bokuto here... "

Louder still.

"Wait!--" The scheming captain shifts, leaning over his setter to get a glimpse of the mobile clutched in the feline's hands. The sight before him only serves to further the sly grin on his contours. "See? You're texting him now."

"About how stupid this is." The pudding cat's brows furrow, averting his gaze to the wall.

"Sti~ll. You're texting him." A meme-ish cackle.

"Ok. I'm going next." Akinori motions for the microphone, telling Kuroo to put on some specific song he's sung every time they've come here. "Order some more food."

The group looks at him in awe; they aren't half through what they've already got.

"What? Why? What do you want?"

"I don't know. Bokuto, what do you want?"

"More kara-age?"

"Ok. Order more kara-age."

Everyone but Bokuto looks at Konoha with a slight tinge of disgust until the cat captain speaks. "It won't work, Konoha."

"What are you getting at?"

"I already said it. She doesn't go for owls."

"Just because I go to Fukuroudani doesn't mean she can't like me."

"Trust me, she likes her men a bit more slimy. Like snakes."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"She's dating a snake, Konoha. A guy I know. She goes to Nohebi. They've been together a while. He started chasing her looooooooong before you. She doesn't like owls and I don't think there's anything you can do to convince her otherwise, Mr. Jack-of-all-trades."

The blond owl sighs as if he were deflating. "Aaah. Alright, don't order the kara-age." Bokuto's face contorts from a look of pure sunshine to turmoil in his struggling battle of self-control to not press the 'place order' telecom button again anyway. "But we're still singing my song. C'mon, Bo." And again, the great horned owl's grin is face-splitting, on his feet in but seconds, microphone  tight in his grasp. "YEEEEEEEEAH!!!" The projector ignites in a dramatic flash of blues as lightning strikes the screen, fading away to the first lines of a song by One OK Rock, half in English, half in Japanese, which the duo sings with vigour, though Bokuto's microphone is on lowered volume as per Akaashi's meddling, because, in all honesty, Koutarou's substantially louder than anyone else in the room and... it's Konoha's time to shine. Though the great horned-owl is far from the image of an actual idol: though he's never on pitch, and his somewhat raspy voice should be a total turn-off, for some bloody reason, Keiji can't take his eyes off the idiot; the passion in his gaze --half-lidded golden galaxies aglow with constellations-, the warmth of his skin, his face-splitting grin, the budding sweat on high-raised brow, the way he pours his entire form into every syllable despite his poor pronunciation; thick ivory lashes shut tight in zeal, the curve of his body over the microphone, the way he shout-sings into it, amber daggers pinned to olive. A sticky warmth rises in the setter's chest; feeling every note from the idiot-genius' lips reverberate in his lungs and drown his ears, mixing with the accelerated thump of his heart into some twisted set of emotions Akaashi regards to be anything but healthy. The room grows hot, his face hotter. It's hard to swallow. 

Look away, idiot. Look away.

But reality isn't that kind; the entirety of their 'show', Akaashi is trapped in a front row seat, prisoner to those golden galaxies, that sunshine smile and that vigorous heart. The dynamic duo ends in unison with a pose, back-to-back, pointing towards their meager crowd of three, though the pudding cat pays them no mind, Kuroo's pointing back at them with two finger guns and a memeish smile, and Akaashi just claps silently, face the spitting image of calefaction and long lashes fleeting. The performers' faces are aglow with life, their cheeks ripe with rouge, panting as if they'd actually just performed.

And only two songs in, Akaashi knows, it's going to be a loooong night.


	8. Welcome to Fukurō Café!

"Welcome to Fukurō Café!"

The hand-painted sign stands tall above one of the extra music rooms the volleyball club has been allotted for the cultural festival. After weeks of post-practise debate over what they'd be selling, since the student council requested they serve some sort of food and anything meaty or delectable would've been devoured by their very own bird of prey... this is what they settled on. A club café. Complete with cheap café snacks, omurice, flouncy maid outfits and a hand-painted sign embossing the doorway... the writing of which slowly descends the paper towards the left. Akaashi stares at it with slight irritation, wishing they'd had time to rewrite it. Or that Konoha-san had written it instea-- 

"HEY HEY HEY!!" Bokuto bursts into the room dramatically, throwing his tuxedo jacket off his shoulders behind him in a flashy yet entirely stereotypical entrance of the great horned owl. Akaashi sidesteps to the right, catching the silken cloth with grace as it folds gently over his arms. His captain is... dressed in his... finest fashion? Charcoal slacks and a white button-up shirt, finished off with a gold and black polka dot bow tie-- slightly crooked--, which Bokuto holds by both ends in a bright-smiled pose, brows raised.

"Bokuto-san..." The setter drapes the jacket on the set of standard wood block hangers on the far wall, approaching his captain with mildly softened almond eyes, a pale curve to his lips, and slight folding of his lower lashes. He'll never get past this idiot. Slender digits fold over his captain's calloused hands, skin branding skin as he fluently pulls them down to the other's sides so as to readjust the haphazard mess of an accessory his captain adorns at the moment, tugging the lustrous bow this way and that until he's satisfied with his handiwork. As grey-olive orbs return to his captain, he finds himself faced with a unsettled Kōtarō; silver brows arched high, and amber orbs, slightly wide, are trained on his underclassman's fine, raven lashes, on the slight folds at the corners of his eyes, on every line and mark and wrinkle decorating porcelain skin. But, he doesn't speak.

"Bokuto-san?"

Cheeks doused in rouge, the captain quite obviously averts his gaze, craning his head as if he were a real great horned owl in his need for refuge, some strange muffled unintelligible squawk the only noise to break his lips.

"Bokuto-s--"

"Akaashi? You think we should rearrange the desks in fours?"

And he's called back to reality; incapable of granting cognitive processing to his current predicament with the great horned owl -who's some sort of broken or sick at the moment-, turning swiftly to face his addressee, back to business. A nod. "Mm. In squares, facing each other, so visitors can sit in groups."

And Onaga and Washio are on it; arranging the desks into little islands to function as tables for four whilst Komi and Sarukui work on setting up the easel-style display; hand-written in pastel chalks in fluffy characters, surrounded by curly flowers and doodles of tea, courtesy of Kaori's penmanship.

"Hey, Kou!" The team manager calls from over the partitions, set up along the far wall to create a divider between the seating area and the 'kitchen'.

"Yeah?" The captain's vigour seems slightly broken, his enthusiasm mixed with hesitation as he enters the small 'prep' room, complete with electric tea kettles and a few plug-in skillets for making omurice. There Yukie stands, face stuffed with culinary magic and Suzumeda at her side; tawny locks adorned with a ruffled hair band, flouncy petticoat brushing just above her freckle-spiced knees. Yukie swallows as she talks, voice muffled by the top of a blueberry streusel muffin, still in her school uniform.

"I won't be able to help much today. My class is doing a play and I'm a tree. But that means our maid café only has one maid  since we don't have anyone else to wear my outfit. It's basically a butler café. So I'm thinking we should let Kaori sit this one out too?" She pops a cookie into her mouth before continuing. "It's not exactly fair to have our first year manager do this alone, Kou."

Dark, beady eyes peek over the partition, more than slightly distraught over the prospect of losing Kaori as their team's maid. "We can get someone else." Onaga argues in desperation.

Copper orbs return to gold, looking somewhat tired and apathetic as usual. "I'll leave it to you, Kou." A pat on the shoulder with a smile, popping one last cookie into her mouth as she takes her leave.

"YEAH! YEAH! YEAH! I'm the best! Leave it to me!" A wide-grin, his head rolled back to the ceiling, hands on hips as a powerful laugh shakes the room like thunder, despite being dressed in his finest attire. As the wave of excitement leaves his form, his face slowly folds into an expression of deep confusion and concentration; thin lines forming over the bridge of his nose, fine wrinkles at the corners on his eyes and along his brow line, his jaw stiff and lips slightly pursed in pensiveness. Hopelessness. Desperation. And silence ensues.

...

...

Until he finds a resolution?

"I'll do it!!" The owl captain shouts in excitement, an immediate 180 from his prior depressed state; only for the idea to be rejected with laughter as much of the team gathers around, resulting in a return to dejection.

"You'd rip the arms off the dress, Bo. You're far too big for that. We're talking Yukie-sized here."

"Hnnnnnnn." A pensive noise rises in the captain's throat, brows knitted tightly together, golden eyes squinting, as if making them smaller would help any. "Hey, Konoha!"

The blond owl laughs. "Sorry, Bo. Not happening. And I'm offended you think _I_ wouldn't rip the dress!" He poses his guns, to which Kaori hardly manages to stifle a giggle.

The great horned owl returns to thought, rouge staining his cheeks as the words break his lips in a rush with such sheer excitement and pride in having discovered what he genuinely believes to be the solution. "Akaaashi!" The 'a' is slightly too elongated, as per usual. "You'd look good in this!"

The underclassman enters, face flat and unamused. Long, flitting lashes still on the lacey monochromatic outfit grasped in squared palms. The air grows sticky and ill and he wants to yell at the idiot in his newfound acute embarrassment. What the hell is that supposed to mean? His throat tightens.

"You shouldn't tell a man he would look good in that, Bokuto-san." A pause. "As a matter of fact, don't tell a woman that either. Not unless you know her very well."

A half-smile, buried in upturned brow paints the blond owl's fine features. "Eeeeh... Well, in all honesty, Akaashi, you would be the best option." He's hesitant, guilty and only slightly amused by the predicament.

Silence.

The libero quirks a brow. "Y'know, this sorta thing is pretty popular nowadays actually. I bet it would help us attract more customers. A lot of girls."

"Giiiiiiiirls." The look of possible bliss is eminent on Konoha's and Komi's faces.

"But... won't they just be fawning over Akaashi?" Washio, the voice of reason. Either out of disrespect or a plea for fantasy, he remains much ignored.

Meanwhile, the setter remains silent. His mind reeling, olive-grey orbs wide, his chest grows tighter by the second. Why couldn't he have been a damned tree and Yukie could have stayed? That would've solved all of this. Why is there even a tree role in the play? Who needs to play a tre-

"It's true, Akaashi! It would help us a lot!!" His excitement explodes in words. "And you'd look really good in it! The best!"

The authenticity of his statement, however tenacious, is too much to bear; that domineering golden gaze, so brimming with enthusiasm is smack somewhere between intoxicating and agitating and it grows hard to swallow, olive orbs retreating, crimson building on the bridge of his nose, his ears, his cheekbones; smudging warmth into porcelain. And before he's able to uproot this flurry of emotions building inside him; drowning his lungs and smothering all but his heartbeat in his ears-, it takes root and he rejects logic, betrays morality, opting for fantasy. He remains silent because the words stick in his throat, as if his subconscious were warning him. Yet, he snatches the flouncy outfit from his captain's hands. _Oh,_ how he wishes he'd listened.

* * *

 

"Welcome to Fukurō café!" The young setter and manager practise their greeting before their club members -much to Akaashi's dismay--; he, outwardly, quiet and calm, flat in tone, refusing to egg on his teammates, is much unlike the bubbly Kaori at his side, though inwardly, he's screaming or crying or some strange mix of the two.

And to make matters worse, the great horned owl's golden gaze befalls his setter; ruffled  lace headdress, flouncy petticoat skirt, pleated edged apron, silky knee highs and all and.... he stills. Whilst the rest of the team cheers and whistles in mock-play, Bokuto remains silent, amber orbs trained on Keiji, which Akaashi can't help but return with fleeting olive orbs; though his dress is slightly too short and the setter's discomfort is all too pronounced -his body stiffened, slender digits fidgeting, a heat far too familiar to him rising from his form in waves of mortification-, the normally boisterous, loud-mouthed captain is seemingly incapable of speech. Kōtarō's form grows stiff, his cheeks tinged in rouge. He swallows hard, a broken silver brow, unfamiliar with such a sensation.

"You alright, Bo?" Konoha nudges his side.

But before his captain even has the chance to answer, before his neck cranes 90 degrees in his need for refuge, before a single unintelligible sound of flabergastery can break his lips, the 'café' opens its doors and the great horned owl is left to ponder his inner afflictions alone.

* * *

 

As giggling groups of girls come and go, most too tickled to refrain from talking to the maid boy Keiji and yet too shy to say a word, Akaashi grows _sliiiightly_ less mortified of his situation; not that there's any forgetting the fact that he's standing in this flouncy dress in front of Bokuto-san; ever-peering, great-horned owl, watchful Bokuto-san, following him with his gaze as if he were expecting Keiji to set him a toss in this frilly skirt. Nonetheless, he greets and serves his customers as originally planned and ~~the café's~~   his popularity grows by the hour until the place is packed and there's literally a line down the hall due to all the photos his patrons have been taking and posting on every social media network known to man. Akaashi swears that if this fiasco is the reason he doesn't land a job in the future, no matter how alluring those golden galaxies are, no matter how quickly that boy's smile sends his heart aflutter, no matter how many times he's ejaculated in front of him, he will never forgive Bokuto Kōtarō. Well, or so he thinks. Nevertheless, Washio's prediction comes true, though it's also certain that their profitability was increased by Akaashi's ill-advised decision and the setter finds himself rather busy, though he's slightly more opposed to drawing a heart in ketchup or writing words like 'toki-doki' on the girls' omurice in this sort of attire. One girl in particular strikes him, but not simply because she's not from their academy. As a matter of fact, many people visiting their school's cultural festival today are alumni, from the neighborhood or students from neighboring schools looking for a bit of recreation this Saturday afternoon. No. What strikes him the most of this girl is her familiarity and it isn't until she speaks, smiles through thick lashes at the boy at her side that he remembers: she's the server from the karaoke bar.

Konoha _almost_ swoops into greet the soft-featured girl; his eyes hopeful and bright, narrowed playfully, ready to serve on bended knee-- though he does a complete 180 as tawny orbs meet the fine-eyed gaze of her partner. _It's true._ She has a boyfriend. But just so that reality is clear with him, harsh as it may be, it stamps out any sort of remaining hope he has that they're just particularly flirty friends as Kaori greets them instead, leading them to their 'seats' and they order omurice, which Mika-chan herself decorates in little hearts and playfully feeds her partner with an 'aaaah!', who turns from this fake sly bad boy type to as though he might die of bliss with each bite of culinary magic the girl lays on his tongue. Crafty eyes grow wide with fluster, porcelain skin dyed in crimson, the snake's form visibly starched by the event. The fires of Akinori's hope are fully drowned by the loving nickname the karaoke girl gives her partner. _Sugu-chan_ and the blond owl faces a bitter conflict of emotions; his jealousy compromised by the fact that he can't help but want to cheer on these snaky lovestruck idiots.

Akaashi's attention is returned to his own predicament as he senses someone enter the 'cafe' and as olive orbs raise from the table he's bussing, he finds only his captain, standing awkwardly by the entrance, his school uniform blazer pulled over his 'butler' attire.

"Bokuto-san... You can't be a customer."

"You're supposed to call me your guest, Akaashi." Stated as though there were nothing strange in these words, correcting him as though Akaashi were supposed to take this gesture seriously.

"Guests have to pay, Bokuto-san."

Bokuto nods without the least hesitation and... Akaashi wants to scream. How the hell can this boy not realize what he's done to him? He's already coerced or... manipulated or... encouraged or _something_ to get Akaashi into this dress, held his hands on long walks home, said things he should never say, done the unspeakable in front of Keiji, half-sung love songs to the setter, shown up to his home on sick days only to catch the illness and render himself ill and... truly just completely turned his world upside down; one where everything fades to black and the floor disappears far too often. But here Akaashi Keiji finds himself, a knot in his throat, faced with a dapperly dressed, --albeit a little disheveled yet still very Bokuto-san--, captain, who expects the setter to serve him in a maid outfit.

...

...

"Mm. T-This way, Goshujin-sama." The words catch in his throat and the flutter of his heart accelerates. If only words or his knees or his heart wouldn't fail him now but oh, lady luck abandoned him so long ago. He leads his 'customer' to the only seats still left arranged -as everyone else has long left and the once-café is now mostly a music room anew-, to stare him down with an unamused expression; flat and distant and plain as if there were little emotionally unsettling with their current situation. _BUT THERE IS._ His mind reasons with him, negotiates poorly and loses as it has so many times as of late.

Bokuto sits at the table he set himself maybe five minutes ago, but pretends he's never seen it before. "I want omurice."

The setter cringes inwardly.

"And a photo."

Screams inwardly.

"With you."

"No."

"Aaaaaagh! Come on, AKAAAASHI! I'm a paying customer!"

"No, Bokuto-san." 

"Oooh, c'mon, Akaashi. It's his last cultural festival with his vice captain." Konoha tries to reason, though teasing.

And it hits the young setter like a ton of bricks, sending stones into his gut as his lungs fill with gravel. It is. Not just their last cultural fest, but their last November, their last shot at nationals, their last New Year... and then what? Kōtarō's graduation. They have four months left together. Actually, 106 days. Not that anyone's counting. Anxiety burns his throat and the gravel begins to boil as he tries to reason with himself what life will be like without Bokuto-san; without his loud-mouthed, strong-willed, boisterous, headstrong captain, without that pounding voice, those golden eyes, that grip like thunder or that laugh like the sun, without weird 2a.m. texts about strange phenomena or surprise New Year's Eve visits or poorly arranged birthday parties or sunburns at the beach or things that should never be said stated without the slightest hesitation. This man entered his life but two years ago, only to completely rewrite Keiji's world. What will life be like without Bokuto-san? But he can't even begin to describe it. The changes he's so blissfully suffered. All he can manage at the moment is to turn away, feigning his duties as the reason, as he recoils to the 'kitchen' in hopes that there he may find refuge, if only briefly, his face unchanged all the while.

He returns minutes later with the requested dish; sweet and salty feathery rice enveloped in steamy, fresh, fluffy eggs, seasoned to perfection. Softened olive watches his captain silently, placing a bottle of ketchup on the desk as well. The pale, late afternoon light through the classroom window slats paint lines on the dish, though Keiji's yet to draw on it. And for a few moments, it feels like everyone's disappeared, all but them; trapped in a world of maid outfits and mortification, of salty fluffy eggs and ketchup hearts, of late, toki-doki afternoons where Keiji can't refute the painful thumping in his chest.

"Akaashi-"

"I know, Bokuto-san." A slightly softened answer, as he leans over his partner, inhaling him by mistake, such a careless mistake, which sends pale tinting to his cheeks and a warm sickness to his gut that he craves so often as of late, as the sun illuminates heavy, pensive lashes. This fluffy canvas limits him so and his choice of paint brings him no respite. And he decides. Shaky hands manage to still themselves if only for this moment, leaving bubbly crimson characters atop a steamy saffron mound.

... ... ...

 _ありがとう_  

 _(Thank you.)_  



	9. Thank you

His eyes further lid and soften, finally allowing his body to unfold; his muscles loosen and his form lazes into the delicate, feather down. His mind untenses as well, permitting itself to wander, to reminisce, to daze. Softened olive-grey orbs laze to the small bookstand at his side; decorated in a plethora of little items, trash and trinkets, his gaze lingers a tad too long on a small photo tacked to the wall; Bokuto with the brightest of grins, one hand perched at his hip, the other lobbed over Akaashi's neck; the two of them in  swimwear during a day trip the team took to the beach; just post watermelon-smashing. His own face in the photo doesn't really communicate how he felt in the moment; flat and somewhat unenthused, two stiff peace signs at his fingertips-- not that he wasn't enjoying himself. Though he can't see it well here, he can remember the minor sun burn he suffered that day; though it hardly compares to the warmth in his face at the moment. Long lashes flick sideways, lazing over another photograph, for which Bokuto had interrupted a young couple that day and Akaashi had nearly died of embarrassment, apologising thoroughly for his enthusiastic senpai. The girl had agreed, seemingly unfazed though giggly, and snapped a shot for them; the two of them, before the entrance to Meiji Jingu on New Year's Eve, Bokuto; even when still, so dynamic in comportment, Keiji himself stiff and warm with embarrassment, posing in the cold before two strangers, dressed in their finest attire for the occasion. His mind returns to the evening's events; the prayers, wishes, fortunes, fresh mochi... oh, _and_ how unplanned it all was; his senpai just showing up out of the blue, 11:08 P.M., dressed for the occasion. Akaashi had planned to go out himself... but... not _with_ anyone. When his mother called him down, saying a friend was there to see him, the setter was incapable of processing what was even happening; Bokuto had only ever been to his home _once_ before that! He didn't really know Bokuto-san then. Hadn't fully grasped what a fucking anomaly the owl captain was nor what his feelings for his captain would come to be.

 So the first thing out of that dumb owl genius' mouth didn't strike him half as much then as it would now.

_Wow, Akaashi! That looks good on you!_

And reality's at his door again; knocking sense from his mind and discomfort into his stomach; hearing the words as if the encounter had occurred only yesterday and not 11 months ago.

His throat tightens, olive grey eyes folding in embarrassment beneath his arm; to block anyone from seeing him in the moment, despite the fact that he's completely alone in his upperclassman's bed room. His mouth, though closed, contorts in a mess of joy, fluster and discomfort just as the lull of the sliding door sloshes in his ears.

And there stands Bokuto Kōtarō, though Akaashi doesn't dare look; gaze hidden by an arm slung over his face, raven locks splayed at his brow, his mouth tense with emotion, eyes scrunched tight despite his face being hidden.

"Akaashi?"

And that voice; that dumb, scratchy, powerful voice -with all its high and low tones-, fills his ears, only bringing further red to his face. Nervousness forces him to his side, facing the wall as if he were trying to shrink himself.

For once, he wishes he could.

"Akaashi? You OK?"

Though the balance of the mattress shifts with the weight of Bokuto's knees, the young setter's body refuses to flow with it, stiffening. His futile attempts at escape only grow more exaggerated with his nervousness, as both hands raise to smother his fine features. Bright face burns slender digits.

"Ne, what's wrong, Akaashi?"

As rigid as his form may be, Bokuto's grasp is far too strong for him, forcing the young setter to his spine, and to face the softened, golden gaze of his captain; cheeks stained from the warmth of showering, dichromatic, freshly rinsed strands collapsed about his face; for once, obeying the call of gravity.

Olive orbs grow tender and wet, brow breaking.

And then the idiot-genius glances to the side, eyes retracing the memories laid out in photographs. Strong arms ensnare the smaller's form; thinking he grasps the situation. Though like always, he doesn't.

"Oi oi. I'll always be here, Akaashi. Even after I graduate, I'll come back to see you. Don't mind. Don't-"

Akaashi doesn't know if he should feel comforted or concerned by this fact... but in the moment, none of that really matters. He wants to be angry, pissed off; shout and scold and chew into Bokuto a slew of 'Why don't you get it?!'s, what the captain's done to his world -one where the floor disappears all too often and the ceiling fades to black- for never understanding and being so blind to reason despite the intelligence he possesses.

Dew buds at his long, lower lashes; fucking Bokuto Kōtarō; the idiot-genius, _his_ idiot-genius trying to console him about a topic completely unrelated to his current afflictions in such an intimate situation which only brings him further embarrassment and he's so bloody confused; his life so full of what-ifs and contradictions and ups-and-downs all brought on by this one boy, ever since he met this one boy, with a face-splitting grin and a grip like thunder; an immaturity and perplexity and excitement for life Keiji never knew to be possible, that he can't tell if he's on the verge of crying of mortification or smiling. His body betrays him, electing for both, despite how hard he challenges fate.

"I'm fine, Bokuto-san."

Tears break the barrier of his lower lash line, staining his cheeks in darkened streams over porcelain skin.

And the captain doesn't say anything, only further ensnaring the boy whose slender digits fold, knotting themselves in the cotton of his pyjamas as he allows himself to cling back.

And he finds himself amongst another contradiction; for all his body wants to do, is relax. But being so close to this boy; inhaling his form, fresh with soap, feeling the gentle, branding sear of skin-on-skin & absorbing the patterns of his breathing, his pulse can't help but accelerate.  He struggles against consciousness, but again, his body betrays him.

Bokuto Kōtarō doesn't understand, and perhaps he never will, but for now, this will have to do.


End file.
